


Devil's Snare

by onereader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventures in Greenhouse Nine, Anal Sex, Choking, Consentacles, Don’t copy to another site, Double Penetration, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Other, Restraints, Sounding, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Virgin Neville, magical plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21571489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/onereader
Summary: In which some late night extra-curricular work in Greenhouse Nine turns into a whole new Herbology discovery for Neville Longbottom.
Comments: 37
Kudos: 252





	Devil's Snare

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into sort-of tentacle sex inspired by the Drarry Discord kinky crew - you all know who you are! 😉
> 
> Beta read by the lovely [CheekyTorah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyTorah/pseuds/CheekyTorah)\- big thanks! ❤️
> 
> I've tweaked bits since it's been beta-read so any remaining errors are all mine!
> 
> If you enjoy this - come and say hi on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/)

Greenhouse Nine was utterly dark. It’s windows were black and there was an impenetrable _Nox_ cast over the whole building, just in case an over-enthusiastic student broke a glass panel while playing outside. It was as strictly monitored as the Advanced Potions supply cupboard, even the Forbidden Forest itself, restricted to seventh years and professors only. Even then, Professor Sprout was reluctant to grant access to most people. Some of the most dangerous darkness-loving plants were kept here—glittering Tenebrose Roses, Nocturnal Nasturtiums, and the one plant that used to frighten Neville after he’d heard Ron and Harry’s stories about it—Devil's Snare.

Over his years at school, Neville had got better about being scared of things—of his friends, of bullies, of teachers. As it turns out, once you’ve stood up to Snatchers, Death Eaters, and even Voldemort himself, all the rest sort of pales into insignificance. He might not quite think of himself as brave yet, but he didn’t doubt his House placement any more, and he never felt worried when he was working with plants. Which is why he had chosen to do an in-depth study of plants used for defensive and offensive planting for his Herbology NEWT. He was planning on heading straight into an Apprenticeship with renowned Herbologist Santiago Sage before taking Sprout up on her offer to return to Hogwarts as Junior Professor of Herbology before she retired.

All of which was to say: Neville was one of three hand picked students in his year that had access to Greenhouse Nine, and he was currently stepping carefully around the Blood-sucking Jasmine in order to reach the large Devil’s Snare that grew huge—dark, lush, and profuse—at the back of the building. In the dim red light of his _Lumos Rubrum_ , carefully modulated so as not to damage the darkness-loving plants around him, he quietly observed the shifting vines as he stood in front of it. He noticed a small abrasion on two of its tentacle-like appendages, and moved closer to cast cleaning and healing charms on them, keeping his movements calm and steady so as not to startle the plant.

Neville was used to the semi-sentient nature of many of the magical plants he cared for, but something about Devil’s Snare always set his nerves to jangling. He wasn’t frightened, not any more, but he knew how careful you had to be with it; it was hypersensitive in comparison with most of the other denizens of Greenhouse Nine. But as he moved closer to check the main trunk of the plant, his foot caught on an uneven clod of dirt and he fell to his knees, his face and arms landing heavily in the shiny green leaves and vines. He tensed, doing everything in his power to stay as still as possible, as calm, even though his breathing was already speeding up in concern. 

He could have sworn. His knees were cold. The damp earth that Devil’s Snare loved was seeping into the fabric of his trousers, and the rustling of vines seemed terribly loud in the silence of the greenhouse. They were moving faster, woken from the torpor they usually languished in when relaxed—and were now shifting with purpose. The plant’s instinctual defence mechanism had been triggered by the impact of Neville’s body falling heavily upon it. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, used to talking to his plants as though they were a welcoming audience. 

In the ruddy glow of his light spell, green turned to black, and the shine of vines and leaves were limned in red. One slender tendril curled around his wrist, slowly tightening, a warning. Neville had a moment of sheer bloody panic—it was eight at night, everyone else was in the Common Room, nobody would worry about him until at least tomorrow at breakfast because right now it was Friday _bloody_ night, and they’d all be getting pissed—before he forced himself to slow his anxious thoughts. 

It wouldn’t do to lose his calm around this plant. The only way to get through this safely, would be to stay relaxed, to stay as still as possible, and hope to Merlin that the Devil’s Snare would sense the lack of danger and back down.

“Alright now,” he tried to sound soothing, “it’s alright, I just fell.”

Staying calm sounded all well and good in his head, but now thicker vines were wrapping around him, turning him where he half lay over the plant. Clearly his attempts at pacifying the Devil’s Snare weren’t working. Because before he knew it, he was being pulled back, his body an arch over the mass of vines and the low, solid trunk of the plant. Now, both of his wrists were ensnared, his ankles too; tiny leaves tickled his leg hair as they slipped up his trouser legs, and he squirmed before he could stop himself. Another vine wrapped around his waist, tight, like arms holding him close. He gasped at the sudden pressure, the strange feeling of vegetal limbs against his skin.

More vines now, sliding under his jumper and wrapping around him, doubling over themselves; stretching the wool until he heard strands begin to snap. And lower; tucking just under the waistband of his trousers, the strain against the seams enough to make them give way. The _plink_ of a button flying onto the brick path made Neville jerk where he lay, supine and stretched out, restrained by the ever-increasing attention of the Devil’s Snare.

For a moment there was stillness, and he thought that maybe— _maybe_ —the plant was satisfied with its work; having captured the ‘intruder’. Maybe it would wait until morning, until the next person came in to check on the plants, and all he’d end up with would be an aching back. Professor Sprout said that the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts she found three Death Eaters still trapped in the various Devil’s Snare plants she had situated around Hogwarts. Injured but alive; they must have struggled.

Neville wasn’t struggling, he was following all the rules, he was staying still and relaxed; and the plant _knew_ him. Oh, he was well aware that his friends scoffed at him when he talked to his plants, but they did respond to him. And Devil’s Snare was one of the most sentient plants that he’d ever taken care of. It might not be friendly like the gentle Finnish Finders Fern, but it was _aware_.

But even though he was literally behaving by the book, the vines recommenced their movement. With dawning horror, Neville realised the tendrils wrapping around his legs beneath his trousers had now reached his thighs and showed no sign of stopping. The first tentative touch of one prehensile stem against the sensitive skin where his thigh met his body was enough to have him struggling against the restraining strength of the plant. That seemed to prompt an angry rustling from the leaves below him, and another vine—as thick as his own broad fingers—reached for him, and encircled his throat in the space of a heartbeat.

Neville fell still, panting against the realisation that whatever came next, he _had_ to control himself, or risk that vine tightening in response. He could still breath, that was the most important thing.

He deliberately relaxed, hoping that the softening of his body, the lack of movement, might lull the Devil’s Snare into the state of somnolence it usually rested in. But still the vines moved, restless underneath him, skimming across his skin; his wrists, his legs, his belly. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it didn’t hurt, but Neville couldn’t shake the sense of anxious anticipation that something strange was going on. 

His determination was tested when that tendril at his thigh moved again. This time, it threaded through his pubic hair, slow, and curled around his cock. Like any eighteen year old, Neville was rather protective of his prick—but he still managed to stay still, acutely aware that movement might risk injury. What shocked him into a full body shudder of horrified arousal was when that slim stalk began to move around him. Tightening, loosening, shifting in undulating coils around his cock. His cock that was rapidly growing hard, unrestricted thanks to the destruction of his trousers.

Neville’s gasp seemed shockingly loud in the quiet of the greenhouse, no sounds around him except the agitated slither of vines beneath him. He realised the Devil’s Snare had reared up around him, like a nest, cradling him in the centre as it’s vines wrapped around him. He couldn’t help but shift his hips; it felt so wrong, but he couldn’t deny the sensations assaulting him. Neville hadn’t exactly tried it with anyone else, but he knew he liked the _idea_ of being tied up—he’d seen it in one of Dean’s dirty magazines that he had smuggled in—and really, anything touching his cock felt like fucking bliss.

Another thin tendril snaked around his balls, wrapping tight, tugging slightly; and Neville’s cock got impossibly harder. He could feel precome beading at the head of his cock, wetting his foreskin, and he ached to just grab at himself. But the restraints around his limbs remained firm, he had no choice but to lie back and endure whatever the Devil’s Snare was doing. Even the gentle ligature around his neck seemed to make something in him squirm with embarrassed pleasure. Part of him _liked_ this. Liked being helpless. Liked being held down. He even liked that it was one of his beloved plants.

The rhythmic massaging at the base of his cock continued, and he let out the tiniest moan as the tendrils there slowly curled up around his length, enclosing his cock up to the head. It was almost like someone was gripping him, but better, because each twisting curve of stem was independently moving against him. And then he moaned again, louder, when yet another vine slipped down the back of his trousers and crept along his crack, it’s cool flesh sending shivers up his spine. He knew then. He knew that this was something different. Something he hadn’t read about in the books. 

Instead of tensing up and trying to get away, Neville relaxed into the feeling; but only half because it was the recommended technique with an out of control Devil’s Snare—mostly it was because he wanted to know what would happen next. Wanted to _feel_ what would happen next. 

Suddenly, a slickness, and the sweet smell of nectar. The vine at his backside slid up and down his crack, exuding some kind of slippery sap, and then paused, nudging at his hole. He’d tried putting a finger in himself once, curious in the shower, but he hadn’t had lube with him, and he’d heard Seamus and Ron coming down the hall to the bathroom, so he’d stopped before he really began. A growing certainty took root in his chest that he was going to have his curiosity thoroughly sated now.

That nudge turned into an insistent push, and Neville held his breath as the blunt tip of the vine pressed past the tight resistance of his virgin hole and then carried on sliding inward, filling him up. He writhed, held tight and suddenly impaled on the cool firmness of the Devil’s Snare, his cock dribbling precome as the pulsating grip around his cock intensified. He stayed quiet, and now it was in case someone came looking, rather than in hopes to calm the plant. He didn’t want to be found anymore, not yet. The vine in his arse curled and wriggled, and he sighed as he acclimatised to the sensation of something _inside_ him. 

The tight wrap of slender vines around the base of his cock and balls tightened, as if sensing his growing arousal, his inexperienced stamina. And then there was a tickling stroke at the head of his cock. Neville craned his neck as far as he could with the restrictive grasp of the vines around his throat, and nearly swallowed his tongue at what he saw. His whole cock was encased in undulating vines, except for the head, shining slick with precome and dark with blood even under the red light of his _Lumos Rubrum_. And there, twitching above his slit, was yet another tendril. 

A glistening drop of that sweet-smelling sap seeped from the delicate tip of the tiny vine, lowering with aching slowness until it merged with his precome, and the dark feeler wriggled _into_ his cock. He couldn’t have held back the strangled moan that burst out of him if he tried. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming—no pain—just brain-melting pleasure as the Devil’s Snare filled him up. His arse and his _cock_ —both slowly but surely invaded. His thighs were shaking, his whole body trembled, and his hips twitched against the movements of the plant. 

Once they were settled inside him— _fuck, they were inside him_ —they started to move. It was subtle at first, a gentle probing, exploratory. Then they began to thrust in tandem, slicking in and out of him simultaneously, filling him, leaving him empty, filling him again. He shuddered, sure he would have come already if it weren’t for the tight grip his balls were wrapped in. 

The vines around his middle, his neck, tightened and relaxed in the same rhythmic flow of the vines fucking into him. An embrace. A choke hold. Both fuelled the fire in his belly, stoking it ever higher as his body was stimulated in ways he had never experienced, never even imagined. And then there was another vine curling down around his arse, smearing the silky smooth sap as it darted toward his hole, pressed in where he was already stretched out around the first. 

Neville gritted his teeth, panting at the burn as this second appendage pushed into him, twisting inside him to twine around its partner. He should be scared. He should be frightened of what was happening, how he was reacting, that fact that _nobody_ would be in this greenhouse for at least twelve hours. But he wasn’t. All he could think of, dizzy and spiralling into a fierce arousal he’d never felt before, was that he wanted _more._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading - if you did leave a comment and come and say hi on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️
> 
> _Lumus Rubrum_ = Red Lumos. I invented this as a way for light to be introduced to dark-loving plants - like infra-red light - don't quote me on the science it just felt right!


End file.
